


Constellations

by bryncurrey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hajime is just really gay okay, M/M, Summer, They go swimming and talk about feelings, also Hajime drives a convertable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6252541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryncurrey/pseuds/bryncurrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some reason, sitting in the dark with Oikawa Tooru and his stupid, silly hair just feels right. Hajime thinks about how much of his life revolves around Oikawa and it terrifies him. He doesn’t know who he is without Oikawa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constellations

**Author's Note:**

> Here are some boys being gay on a beach. I hope you enjoy!

It is a sweltering summer evening. Oikawa’s face is flushed as the warm summertime air gusts, his eyes wide and ablaze as he smiles into the bright light of the sun. Everything is painted a slight-yellow tinge, as the sun sets closer to the horizon. The landscape is a surreal, sunset orange and nighttime yellow, tied together to create the perfect abundance of warmth. And he, himself, is warm. Hajime feels warm. Both literally, and figuratively. He probably should be watching the road, but instead, he is watching Oikawa. In his defense, the setter is hard to not watch, with his large, pearly grin and wide open arms as he stands in the passenger seat of the convertible, completely open and completely free. Oikawa yells something to him over the blare of the radio—some ukulele-ridden pop song that Oikawa loves and Hajime can’t help but to love as well because of the way it makes Oikawa smile— but Hajime can’t understand what he’s saying, but he decides to smile a slight quirk of the lip as a response. Oikawa throws his head to the sky and laughs. 

It’s these days that Hajime feels the most at peace. The warm, summer nights where there is nothing for either of them to worry about. No school, no volleyball, and no frigid nights lying in bed thinking what the hell they’re going to do with their lives. He enjoys the freedom of being able to hijack his dads bright red ’67 Mustang Convertible and drive both nowhere, and everywhere. He doesn’t know exactly where he and Oikawa are driving at the moment, hell, he doesn’t even know what town they’re in, but that’s okay. Oikawa’s smile says it all. 

They drive along a Cliffside of some sort, and Oikawa continuously points out to the sea. “I see another whale!” he exclaims, looking back to Hajime, shaking his pointer finger in the direction of the plethora of blue below them. 

Hajime lets out a snort and informs Oikawa that, “No, that’s just another boat, you dimwit.” Oikawa pouts for a few minutes, but is soon gripping the door to the passenger side, staring out at the sea again. He rambles on about wanting to go swimming, and Hajime knows Oikawa’s trying to get him to suggest it, but something in Hajime want’s the other to be the one to propose the idea. He clutches the steering wheel with one arm, and taps his knee along to the beat of the song with his other hand. The highway is mostly straight, with the slight curve every kilometer or so, and is rather sparse besides their own vehicle. Oikawa leans his seat back, and is practically horizontal before he opens his eyes and looks up to the sky. 

Hajime sometimes wonders how a person’s eyes can be so telling. Maybe it’s just that he knows Oikawa too well, or maybe it’s because he spends a little too much time looking. But Oikawa’s eyes are like an open book. They gleam and they glow, but they always look a little sad. They hold the wonder and joy of a child, but they also mourn. Hajime has his ideas of what it is they are mourning, but he does not speak it. 

Maybe, he thinks, he enjoys these summer drives because it is one of the only times he sees Oikawa truly happy. He’s watched over the years as Oikawa dazzled his peers and partners one by one with a winning smile and sultry charm. A pretense, Hajime would call it. A painting Oikawa used to cover up his deepest and darkest wounds. His smile was a weapon, a self-deprecation of some sort, used to win over others, but hide oneself. A literal definition of a backfire. Hajime looks to Oikawa, as the latter raises his hand. He spreads his fingers, and lets the air flow through them. Hajime’s seen him do this before. It stabilizes him. Let’s him know that he is here, and that he is real. 

“Hajime?” he is startled out of his trance from the use of his first name, a word that is quite rare coming from Oikawa. Hajime grunts in affirmation, and waves his hand, beckoning for Oikawa to continue with his question. 

He feels Oikawa’s gaze move from the sky to him. Hajime refuses to give him the satisfaction of turning to look back. He prepares himself for an onslaught of questions, but Oikawa does not ask him anything. 

“Let’s go swimming,” Oikawa states. It’s almost a whisper, and Hajime doesn’t know how he hears it over the blaring stereo, but he does. He does not reply, but grins, and turns the car at the next exit. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They pull up in the convertible in front of a small beach and dock, and Oikawa is glowing. He bounces giddily in his seat, and urges Hajime to “hurry up.” Oikawa doesn’t wait for him to turn the car off, and jumps the passenger door as if it’s a hurdle. 

“Hey!” Hajime shouts, as Oikawa breaks towards the water, ridding himself of his plain, white tank top. “Asshole! Wait for me, I have to make sure the car is alright or my dad will kill me!” 

Oikawa looks over his shoulder, throwing his shirt to the ground, and laughs. “Your dad’s going to kill you for taking it, anyways. Live a little, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime mutters a few unknowledgeable curse words directed at Oikawa, before turning off the engine. He follows the over-eager Oikawa towards the beach and shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts, letting the cool ocean breeze hit him head on. He breathes in the salty air, and exhales through his nose. The beach, besides the two of them, is otherwise empty, and the air is mostly silent besides the relaxed caw of a faraway bird which he doesn’t know the name of. Oikawa would probably know the name of it, he thinks. 

He looks to his right as he feels a grip on the upper part of his forearm, and sees Oikawa tugging him towards the ocean. “You’re taking so long, come on!” the latter whines. Hajime pries Oikawa’s fingers from his arm, and walks beside him towards the beach. Oikawa snickers as they begin to take off their shoes, and Hajime glares. 

“What?” he snaps. 

Oikawa grabs the snapback atop Hajime’s head, and chucks it aside, giggling. “You look like such a player, Hajime, it’s so stupid.” 

Hajime flips him off, and grabs his hat from the sand, dusting it off and placing it back on his head before turning to Oikawa. “At least I’m not the asshole wearing pink flip-flops.” 

Oikawa’s jaw drops, and he fixes Hajime with a pointed stare. “They are salmon red, thank you very much, and they’re cute!” He points to the sunglasses perched atop Hajime’s forehead. “They’re cuter than your fuckboy sunglasses!” 

Hajime punches his shoulder. Hard. Oikawa yelps and jumps back, rubbing at his upper arm with discontent. He mutters something about “Iwa-chan” and “being a brute,” but Hajime decides to ignore him, and continue forward to the water. He places his glasses, hat, and shoes far away from the water where they won’t be reached, and pulls his shirt over his head, and places it beside the rest of his belongings. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Oikawa regarding him with a curious expression. Hajime furrows his eyebrows and looks towards him. “What?” he asks.

Oikawa seemingly realizes he’s being watched, and his face reddens. “Nothing, nothing,” he assures, facing the ocean, hands on hips. “Let’s get going.” 

Hajime is almost absolutely sure that it isn’t nothing, but he decides not to press, and follows Oikawa into the water. It is biting and cold, but the farther out Hajime gets, the more welcome the chill becomes. He floats, facing the sky, letting the hot sun beat against his face. It is a contradiction, the clashes of senses, the way he can’t feel his toes but he can feel his face more than he has ever been able to before. 

He realizes after a few moments, that Oikawa is not out in the water with him. He begins treading, and spies Oikawa near the shore, no deeper than his hip. “Oi!” he exclaims, swimming towards the other boy. 

“Oh,” Oikawa says, noticing Hajime’s form. “I don’t want to mess up my hair,” he explains, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re the one who wanted to go swimming!” Hajime exclaims, and before Oikawa can react, he grabs him by the wrist, and pulls him face-forward into the water. Oikawa emerges, shrieking, pushing his hair away from the eyes. 

“Iwa-chan, what the fuck!” he cries, desperately trying to fix his sopping hair.

“No use,” Hajime quips, referring to the mess atop his hair. “It looks like a mop.” 

“You’re so mean.” 

“You brought this upon yourself,” Hajime replies, returning to his floating position in the water. Oikawa makes a miffed sound, but joins Hajime. 

As they float, Hajime looks over, to see Oikawa’s eyes again full of wonder. Something tightens in his chest, and he quickly looks away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sun has set, but the night is still warm. They sit beside each other atop the sand, as Oikawa recites a story from when he taught at the children’s volleyball club. Hajime listens to him, but not really. The words do not register, but the excited lilt of Oikawa’s voice certainly does. 

He is happy because Oikawa is happy, and that frightens him more than the world itself. He is uncertain how he allowed his emotions to be dictated by that of the one Oikawa Tooru, but he allowed it, nonetheless. He wants to scream and he wants to cry, and he doesn’t know why, but when he looks at Oikawa smile he feels as though his heart is going to burst from his chest. Because, for some reason, sitting in the dark with Oikawa Tooru and his stupid, silly hair just feels right. He thinks about how much of his life revolves around Oikawa and it terrifies him. He doesn’t know who he is without Oikawa. 

Oikawa has finished talking. He leans back on his elbows, eyes closed, as he breathes in and out. “This was fun,” Oikawa says, his voice less animated and more relaxed. 

Hajime nods in agreement. The sky is clear and open, not a cloud in sight. It’s unlike the usual city scape that they are used to. There’s something so much more intimate about the naked night sky. 

“This was fun, and I don’t want it to end,” Oikawa repeats, and Hajime is startled. He looks towards Oikawa, brows drawn.

“Huh?” He replies, confused. 

Oikawa fiddles with his fingers, an anxious habit that Hajime knows oh-too-well. He looks up to Hajime. “I’m scared, Hajime,” he states. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when we go to school. I’ve never played volleyball,” he pauses, his voice cracking, “I’ve never done anything without you beside me. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you beside me on the court. How will I…What will I…” he stutters, voice quickening, his breathing coming in erratic spurts. 

“Hey, hey,” Hajime murmurs, grabbing him by the shoulder. Oikawa stops, and looks from his hand, to his face. “I know,” Hajime says quietly. “I think about it too. All the time.” Oikawa seems honestly shocked at the confession. “But you’re going to be fine, Tooru. You’re the best volleyball player I’ve ever seen, and you’ll be able to bring out the best in anybody you play with. And you’ll be able to work everything else out, I promise. You’re adaptable. You’re charming. You’re going to have no problem at University.” 

Oikawa shakes his head. “No, it’s not what you…” he pauses, hands curling into fists. “You don’t understand, Hajime.” He opens his mouth once, as if to continue, but he only closes it. He looks like he desperately wants to say something. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he urges, squeezing Oikawa’s shoulder. Because even though he likes to think that he knows everything about Oikawa, he’s not a mind reader. There are many things Oikawa doesn’t know about him, and surely, it’s the same the other way around. 

Oikawa is still avoiding his gaze, and his hands are still curled into fists, but his erratic breathing slows. He takes a deep breath, grabs Hajime by the side of his head, and pulls them together. 

Hajime’s body goes numb against Oikawa’s lips. He thinks that he might be drowning. He knows he’s not in the water anymore, but it’s the closest he’s ever felt to suffocating. He feels like he’s going to break, like his lungs are going to stop working, but he doesn’t care. He bring the hand on Oikawa’s shoulder to the back of his neck, and pulls the latter flush against him, kissing him back with a force that he didn’t know he had. He knows that he should stop, that he should ask Oikawa what’s going on, but he doesn’t. It feels so right. 

Oikawa lets out a small gasp, his hands sliding from their grip on Hajime’s face, down his neck, and to his chest. His hands explore the warm, inviting skin. Hajime is all hard muscle and soft skin, and is everything that Oikawa thought he would be, but is also so different. Hajime is a unique mix of everything Oikawa has ever known. He smells slightly of sweat and seawater, but also something that is distinctly Hajime. It overwhelms Oikawa. 

Hajime trails kisses down Oikawa’s pale neck, stopping at the slightly protruding collarbone. Oikawa is breathless, and hangs on to Hajime with every inch of his being. Hajime bites slightly at his collar. Oikawa moans. 

Hajime falters at the sound. He feels hot, and his whole body feels as though he is on fire. He probably is, he thinks. Oikawa makes a quiet, indistinct sound that Hajime is sure means for him to carry on, so he obeys. He catches Oikawa’s lips with his again, and grabs Oikawa’s free hand, lacing their fingers together. He explores Oikawa’s mouth with his own, and the other slumps against him, muscles loose and limp. He makes little noises that make Hajime turn even redder. 

He pulls back, only for a moment, and looks to their twined fingers. Oikawa does the same. Their faces are so close, and Hajime can feel Oikawa’s short, sudden breaths on his lips. “I understand,” Hajime says. “I know, Tooru.” 

Oikawa looks at him, still catching his breath. “I thought,” he said, voice quiet, almost self-conscious, “that if we went to different universities, you wouldn’t need me anymore.” 

Hajime lets out a chuckle. “You’re such an idiot sometimes. Of course I’d still need you. I’ve always needed you, and that’s not going to change.” 

Oikawa looks it him with a gaze he has seen so many times before. The times when he had looked at the sea and the times when he had looked at the sky. It was strange to be on the receiving end. 

Oikawa leans forward, and rests his face in the crook of Hajime’s neck. “I’m happy, Hajime.” His voice is breathless and pure. 

“I know,” Hajime replies. “So am I."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hajime drives them home with one hand on the steering wheel. His other is latched to Oikawa’s, who is leaning against his shoulder, deep in sleep, and content. 

Hajime looks to the sky laid out in front of him, and he thinks about how all the constellations are just stars put together to create an image and to create something for people to believe in. He thinks they're beautiful. 

Oikawa’s eyes are also like stars, however, and they have created something so much more.


End file.
